Amor non reciprocatus
by Apparatus-Atrox-Intus
Summary: You can't always have what you want.


**This is my first attempt not only at a Creek story but at a fan fiction piece in general, so please be gentle.**

**Characters of course belong to Trey Parker and Matt Stone.**

**Song for this chapter: Rome - "Swords to rust hearts to dust".**

There's nothing in the world worse than wanting something that you know you cannot have.

That's a phrase that gets thrown around quite a lot these days. But usually when people use it they are speaking of petty, material things. Sports cars or big houses, stuff like that. All of which are easily obtainable compared to those things that you _really_ can't have. Not for all the money in the world.

If Tweek had learned one thing so far, it was that you cannot _will_ someone into loving you.

Not that this stopped him trying. He still spent many a late night and early morning in his room, running various scenarios through his head. Imagining what it would be like if that person he wanted so much was actually his. What it would actually be like if they were together. Those fleeting instances. That first touch, all be it accidental or by intention. Not just any old touch, you touch people all the time. But that first _touch._ It can be as little as a glancing contact but it sends electricity through the entire body. Those small, insignificant things that you don't notice with other people, but with this person they are of overwhelming importance. The way they smell, the way they move, the way they speak, the way they breath. The sound of their name.

Craig Tucker.

Jesus, just thinking the name sent odd prickling sensations all through Tweek's body and brain. Just thinking it, not even having to say it aloud. It was a marvellous name. The perfect positioning of sharp consonants and soft, complimenting vowels, as though it were a name that had been expertly crafted rather than just simply given. Craig's parents must be pretty damn smart.

Unlike Tweek's parents of course. They had always claimed it was a joint decision to name him Tweek Tweak, perhaps because neither of them was willing to own up to such a blatant display of either ignorance or twisted humour.

The strangest thing was that Tweek actually knew Craig rather well. But this only seemed to make it worse. It wasn't as if it where one of those 'Touching from a distance' cases where the object of your affection doesn't even know you exist. The fact that they knew each-other made it that much more personal, and that much more unbearable.

In the old days they were what you might call friends. After the incident with the other kids coercing them into fighting each-other Craig would occasionally allow Tweek to act as part of his 'Gang'. After the dust had settled from the whole fight situation and they realised the others had set them up, they actually spoke and found that they kind of got on with one-another.

It was around this time that Tweek's ever growing fascination with the dark haired, blunt speaking boy really began. At first he didn't know what to call it, being so young and all, and simply put it down to the fact that he thought Craig was really, _really_ cool. It wasn't until years later that he realised that his admiration was turning into a kind of attraction.

At first it freaked the hell out of him. He couldn't possibly be gay, could he? He was so unlike every other gay person he had ever had contact with. But he supposed it kind of made sense. What with all of his other problems, ADD, serious caffeine addiction, paranoia and so on, being gay would just be the icing on the whole horrible cake. He would be a little, trembling bundle of everything weird, physically embarrassing and socially wrong.

But the oddest thing about this was that Craig was the only other guy, In-fact the only other person, who he found attractive. Perhaps he was Craig-o-sexual or something.

The years had caused them to drift somewhat apart. They didn't hang out regularly but would still bump into each-other now and then. If Tweek were to say hello he would probably receive the signature raised middle finger. But that was something you came to understand about Craig, in the same way that 'Ciao' can mean both 'Hello' and 'Goodbye', being flipped off by Craig wasn't necessarily a completely negative thing.

Tweek was roused from his thoughts by the fact that silence had descended over the room.

He had been laying on his bed with his eyes closed, enveloped in the music issuing from his lap-top, turned up on its back so as the speakers pointed right at him.

Rome's 'Flowers from exile' had just finished its final track. It was a brilliant album, Jerome Reuter's voice was just the kind that Tweek liked. Most people would assume that he was into frantic, loud music that would reflect his mannerisms. But the truth was quite the opposite. He enjoyed slow, smooth stuff. Music that helped him 'Find his centre'. He especially had a fascination with soft, deep voices like Reuter's. Dave Gahan from Depeche Mode, Nick Cave, perhaps even Tom Waits if he was feeling particularly adventurous.

He had always wondered what Craig's singing voice would sound like. Would it simply be a more melodic version of his usual nasal often monotone voice? Or would he be one of those people who open their mouths and some new, unexpected, second voice comes out?

God, he could always twist the subject back to Craig no matter what it was.

He swung his legs round and sat up on the edge of the bed. He tipped his lap-top back into it's upright position and looked at the time. 16:36. Shit, Just over twenty minutes until his evening shift at Harbucks. It wasn't the worst job in the world, but who really likes work, especially in the evening when it's lonely as hell. He had always been pretty much guaranteed the job ever since his Dad had agreed to take over the place, but that was the only benefit that had come with it. He wasn't instantly promoted to shift manager or anything like that. Not that this troubled him all that much. Like the old Spider-Man saying, 'With great power comes great responsibility', Tweek always added his own second line 'And with great responsibility comes great pressure'.

He shut off the lap-top before standing up and looking at himself in the mirror attached to his wardrobe. Vans, jeans, shirt, awesome. Throw the old barista apron over himself and he should look fine.

He made his way noisily down the stairs, his feet only making contact with ever second step, and then into the kitchen where his mother was sat at the counter casually reading a newspaper, seemingly un-phased by her son's dramatic entrance. Tweek was always confused by how she was able to stay so calm and placid even when he was whirling around the place like a minature tornado.

He made B-line for the coffee pot which was fortunately still half full. He poured himself a cup and placed it to his lips. It wasn't quite hot, which was just how he liked it. At a lower temperature you can down the stuff a whole lot quicker.

"You shouldn't sleep in the afternoon son" said His Mom as though her reaction to his presence was somewhat delayed "You're going to be late"

"I wasn't sleeping" Tweek replied before taking another mouthful from his cup "I was just laying down and Ngh-thinking"

"Well, you don't want to do too much of that" Her attention didn't move from the paper "You know how worked up your imagination gets you"

Tweek gave no response and instead just made a constricted little sound before draining the last of his coffee. Heaven forbid that his Mom should ever ask what it is that he lays down and thinks about.

"You better get going" she said, her eyes finally moving up to the clock "Your father will be waiting".

Tweek looked up at the clock himself.

"Gah Jesus!" he cried out before throwing the cup into the sink. It was ten to five now. Why the hell does time have to insist on being so fast? He was sure that time lasted a lot longer when he was younger.

He gave a sort of garbled farewell to his Mother before dashing down the hall where he yanked his jacket from a peg and all but jumped out of the door into the cold, November afternoon.

He didn't much fancy running on the frost covered street as this was pretty much asking for a snapped neck. But he walked as fast as his feet would carry him. The cold air stinging his face and the inside of his throat as he breathed fast and hard.

He had to get to the coffee shop in time. Even though he was the manager his Father insisted on doing as many of the busy mid-day to five shifts as possible. Something about 'Being a friendly and recognisable face. Like coming to visit an old friend' Oh god, the metaphors man, how Tweek hated the metaphors!. But if there was one thing his Dad insisted upon it was punctuality. He didn't mind that Tweek drank his own weight in coffee while at work, or smashed the occasional mug. All those things could be replaced, but in his Dad's eyes being late was just as bad as not turning up at all. The guy really took his job seriously. He would always talk about how they were 'Providing a vital service to the townspeople' as though they were the police of the fire brigade or something.

After a few more minutes speedy walking Tweek finally saw the Harbucks sign in the near distance.

He was going to make it! He had to! Otherwise his Dad would have him mopping floors or cleaning toilets or (Oh Jesus Tap-dancing Christ forbid) make him wear the camel suit! Anything but the fucking camel suit!

He sped up so that he was almost breaking into a jog.


End file.
